Useless Desires

Author: enigmaticblue <enigmaticblue@yahoo.com>

Rating: Mild R for adult themes and language.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters except for Tim. He's mine. Of course, I don't make money off of any of them. Oh, and the title is from a Patti Griffin song of the same name.

Archive: Anywhere that already has my stuff. Anywhere else, just ask.

Summary: Spike leaves after a slightly altered "Seeing Red," and doesn't come back. This fic is set about five years or so later.

A/N: A few things before we get started.

1) This fic is not Spuffy. Even if you don't normally read anything not Spuffy, I hope you'll stick with me, because I think it'll be good. Who knows? You might surprise yourself by actually liking a different pairing.

2) This fic is darker than my usual. I'm going to be exploring some pretty adult themes including prostitution, sexual abuse, and suicide. It's not going to be graphic, and I'm going to be sensitive, but I wanted to give fair warning.

3) I don't think I really have to say this, but I will anyway. I am not trying to make any kind of political statements with this fic. I'm doing Spara because I like the pairing and for no other reason. Personally, I think sometimes you just fall in love with someone, regardless of gender.

Dedication: For Speaker-to-Customers, who said he wanted me to try my hand at Spara, and for Heather, who thinks I can write anything, bless her heart.  

Chapter 30

"To love means to communicate to the other that you are all for him, that you will never fail him or let him down when he needs you, but that you will always be standing by with all the necessary encouragements. It is something one can communicate to another only if one has it." ~Ashley Montagu

Tara woke to the smell of breakfast, and when she opened her eyes it was to Spike perched on the edge of the bed, a heavy tray in his hands. "Hungry, Tara-luv?"

It was such a change from the previous night, when Spike had been wild and dangerous. It had been a primal night—a wild ride indeed. A line from a poem she'd read for a class went through her mind, "Wild nights, wild nights, were I with thee, wild nights should be our luxury."

This morning, however, Spike was the picture of the perfect boyfriend, bringing her breakfast in bed. The only suggestion of the night's previous activities was the rather smug look on his face. It was, in a way, as though she was with two very different men. There was the rough monster—who took care that she was as happy as he was—and the solicitous gentleman.

Knowing as she did that Spike had not changed all that much after getting his soul, Tara had difficulty fully understanding why Buffy had let him go. Not that she didn't understand the complexities inherent in loving a vampire—especially for the Slayer—but Spike was worth it all.

Breakfast in bed was just a reminder.

"Of course, I'm hungry," she replied teasingly. "I think I'm still worn out."

Spike's gentle fingers caught her under the chin, tipping her head to the side to see his bite marks more fully. "Does it hurt?"

Tara heard the regret mixed with fear in his voice. He was obviously feeling badly about having let himself go so thoroughly, and was concerned that she had changed her mind.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

"No," she replied, grabbing his hand and bringing it to her lips. "It's fine, Spike. I wanted this as much as you did."

A wistful expression passed over his face. "It was good for you then, luv? Wanted to make sure you were satisfied."

"I think you could say that." Tara cupped his cheek in her hand. "Spike, I asked you to bite me, remember?"

How could he not remember? She had been screaming it with his name, legs wrapped around him in a grip he might have expected from a Slayer but not from the gentle witch.

Tara was always surprising him.

"Yeah, but—things always look different in the morning, Tara," Spike pointed out, his voice heavy with knowledge. "Just—I wanted you to know that we don't have to do it again. If you didn't want to. Last night was a gift, but if—"

"Is it something you would want to do again?" Tara asked, interrupting him.

Spike blinked. "What?"

"I am not some shrinking violet," Tara said, a touch of acid on her tongue. "I'm not going to agree to something one night and withhold it from you the next because your demon scares me. Your demon is as much a part of you as your soul, and I fell in love with both."

Spike's lips twisted into a half-grin. "I never would have considered you a shrinking violet, pet. Far from it. 's just that you might not have enjoyed it, an' so we wouldn't have to do it again."

"I did enjoy myself a lot," Tara replied. "But that doesn't matter as much. It was good for you, and I would have been glad to let you drink from me for that reason alone."

Once again, Spike was thrown off guard. He was a sincere believer in the reciprocity of lovemaking. He received as much pleasure out of making certain his partner was happy as anything else. There was nothing like the expression on a woman's face after she lay sated, knowing that he had done that. He had given something to her, even if it was only a moment's physical pleasure, fleeting and insubstantial.

For so long, it had been very nearly the only thing he seemed able to give the women he loved.

Tara's blood had been rich and hot, sliding down his throat with a glorious strength. Spike had never known a more satisfying ambrosia. That she had given it willingly made it all the sweeter, although once he would have preferred it to be spiced with fear.

That she had lain in his arms afterwards, closing her eyes trustingly, sleeping as deeply as a child in the arms of its mother—it was a priceless gift.

Now she was looking at him again with trust and love, offering herself up to him. Spike could hardly believe that it wasn't a dream.

For once, he had no words, and so he leaned forward and kissed her. This kiss was light and sweet, undemanding. It held all his love for her. "I love you."

"I know," Tara replied with a smug smile. She felt rather like the mouse in Aesop's fable, who had tamed the lion through kindness. "I love you too, but I'm hungry."

Spike laughed and presented the tray. "Far be it from me to stand between a woman and her breakfast."

She smiled sweetly. "That's because you're a very intelligent man."

~~~~~

Tim hadn't slept, although it wasn't the fear of nightmares that had kept him awake. Instead, he lay on his side, his head supported by his bent arm. Dawn slept next to him, her hair spread wildly over the pillow, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

With a hesitant hand, Tim traced the outline of her jaw in the air, careful not to touch for fear of waking her. It had been the first time he'd made love, the first time someone had slept through the night—or early morning, anyway—at his side.

It was the first time a girl had said she loved him.

Tim was still waiting to wake up from the dream, which was why he hadn't been willing to go to sleep. What if Dawn was gone when he woke up? What if it hadn't meant as much to her as to him? It wasn't fear so much as it was the desire not to miss a single moment. Tim wanted to replay her words to him a hundred times over.

He still wasn't sure how it could be true.

Dawn stirred next to him, letting Tim know that she would soon wake. He waited with bated breath, wondering what her first words to him would be, wondering if she was regretting her choice.

Wondering if he had made her happy.

"Hey," Dawn said with a bright smile. "You're awake."

"I didn't go to sleep," he replied. "Are you—how are you?"

Dawn knew immediately why he was asking. "I'm really good, especially with you right here." She grinned at him. "I could get used to this."

"To what?"

"Seeing you first thing in the morning."

A shy smile spread over his face. "Me too. I mean, I like being here when you wake up."

"That settles it, then," Dawn declared. "We have to do this more often."

"I could do that," he agreed, reaching out to push her hair out of her face. "Was it okay?"

Dawn sighed and grabbed his hand. "It was more than okay, Tim." The sigh was for the insecurity that he was betraying, and she knew that it would never completely go away. They had both been deeply wounded by what life had to throw at them. For Tim, it would probably mean that he would always wonder whether he was worthy to be loved. For her, it would mean that she was always wondering if yet another person would leave.

In the end, Dawn supposed the one thing she had learned was that it didn't matter if people left, because they would. What mattered was the time you spent with them, what you did while they were with you.

That time might be all you had.

Last night had been more than okay because Dawn had finally got it. She had finally realized that it wasn't all about her, that for that moment in time at least, she didn't matter. Her attention had been focused on Tim and on convincing him of his worth.

Tim, in turn, had been trying to do the same thing, which resulted in their lovemaking truly being something of beauty.

Two had become one.

"It wasn't really about that, though," Dawn continued, trying to put her thoughts to words. "It was about how I feel about you. You get that, right?"

Tim nodded. "I get it. Thanks."

"For what?"

He reached out and traced her shoulder, and his touch sent a frisson of desire through her body. "I don't know. For everything. For staying. For—for understanding."

"You're welcome," Dawn replied, not knowing what else to say. After a moment's pause, she asked. "Would you do me a favor?"

Tim smiled. "Anything. You know that."

"I want to get a tattoo," Dawn said. "Would you go with me?"

"What brought this on?" Tim was not displeased with the idea, but he hadn't thought it was something Dawn would be interested in doing.

Dawn considered his question, formulating her response. "Because I guess it would be a way to remember my mom and Buffy. I want something permanent."

Tim nodded, understanding perfectly what she meant. "You know where?"

"I think my back," Dawn said. "I'm not sure what yet, but—would you help me?"

"Of course." Tim's hand went to her lower back, as though to explore the area where the tattoo might go. "We'll figure out the perfect thing."

Dawn smiled, unable to keep from believing him. They would figure out the perfect thing somehow. That's one of the things she loved about him.

~~~~~

To say that Anya wasn't thrilled with things was putting it mildly. She hadn't been looking forward to coming back to Sunnydale. There were good memories here, but they were overshadowed by the bad ones. By the memories of the wedding that wasn't, of having to leave because she couldn't deal anymore, of being snubbed by the people she thought of as friends.

That had been the straw that broke the camel's back. Xander's desertion had been bad, but when the others turned away from her—the injured party—to comfort him, it had been unbearable. Spike had been the only decent one out of the whole bunch, and he had left too.

Now Giles was talking about taking Xander to England. She wasn't pleased.

"I don't understand, Rupert," Anya said flatly, watching as he turned from the mirror while straightening his tie. The decision had been made to leave the shop closed for the day, but Giles had plans on going in to finish up the last of the book keeping. He had already called Willow and enlisted her support for bringing Xander over to visit.

Anya was not playing the supportive girlfriend role on this one.

"I explained, Anya. Xander needs to get out of Sunnydale for a while." Giles sighed. "I told you what happened."

"Yes, you explained, Rupert, but I don't see why we have to be involved." Anya fixed him with a glare. "Xander is not your responsibility."

Giles turned to look at her. "I realize that, Anya, but someone needs to look after him for a time."

"Why does that someone have to be you?" she demanded. "You know how I feel about this. Put him on a plane and make Willow take care of him."

"I can't." Giles met her eyes. "You know I can't."

"Why?" Anya demanded again. "They aren't your children, Rupert. This isn't your job anymore."

Giles turned to her. "They're all I have left, Anya. They're all I have left of her."

Anya stared at him, and then nodded. "I see."

"You don't have to speak to him," Giles coaxed. "All we're doing is escorting him to Heathrow, where Willow will pick him up. Hopefully she'll be able to do something, but I'm not taking charge of him."

Anya frowned. "That's not what it looks like to me."

"It's not like that, Anya. Xander—"

"Xander needs to dry out," Anya said bluntly. "And he needs to get a clue. If Tim made a wish in front of me, I would grant it."

Giles looked at her, and then pulled off his glasses to polish the lenses. "I wouldn't blame you," he admitted. "We'll just have to hope that Tim doesn't make a wish."

"You can hope that," Anya muttered. "I think I'll be hoping for something else."

~~~~~

Xander stood in front of Dawn's apartment door, wondering where she was. He had a feeling that it was with Tim, and he supposed it was just as well. While he felt the need to apologize to her and to Tim, he wasn't sure he was up for it.

"What are you doing here?"

He turned to see Dawn walking towards him, Tim at her side. "Dawn, I—"

"I told you not to come around, Xander." Dawn's voice was cold, and he couldn't help but remember the days when she'd had a crush on him.

Xander swallowed hard. "Dawn, I'm sorry."

"I don't want to hear it," she replied.

Tim put his hand on her arm. "Dawn, it's okay."

"No, it's really not," Dawn snapped. "He hurt you."

"Dawn, let him speak." Tim had never had anyone apologize for hurting him before. He wanted to know what it felt like. She must have seen some of that in Tim's face, because she subsided, although her eyes were no less cold.

Xander met Tim's eyes with difficulty. Somewhere along the line, he had become the bully, and right now he hated himself for that. "I don't know what got into me," he admitted hoarsely. "I'm sorry. I just—I've decided to get out of town for a while, go see Willow in England. I wanted to tell you that before I left. I know—I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry for that."

The younger man regarded him solemnly for a long, quiet moment. "It's not okay," he finally said. "But you didn't hurt me that badly. Not as bad as you could have." Tim wasn't about to pull his punches. "You need to get help before you do something really stupid."

"I know," Xander replied. "I'm sorry," he repeated again. He looked over at Dawn. "Dawnie—"

"We all miss her, Xander," Dawn said quietly. "Buffy would have wanted you to live, though. You're killing yourself right now."

"That's why I'm leaving for a while, to kind of get my head on straight," Xander said. "I don't—I don't think I'll see Tara before I leave. Will you tell her that I'm happy for her? Even if I don't understand it, I'm happy that she's doing okay."

Dawn nodded. "I'll tell her."

They didn't hug. Xander stuck his hands in his pockets and walked away slowly, his shoulders hunched over as though he had the weight of the world on his back. Dawn watched him go, knowing that it spelled yet another end for her. Xander was really the last of the Scoobies, and she didn't see him returning to Sunnydale.

He would find another city, another life—one where he could forget about Buffy, and the Hellmouth, and everything else. Dawn wondered if that wasn't the way things usually worked. You could not live an extraordinary life and then go back to normal, not without a certain amount of forgetfulness.

Xander would learn to be content without the Slayer, as they all had had to do.

Dawn felt Tim's arm go around her shoulders. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Dawn looked up into his yellow-green eyes, and she knew that she had made her own peace. Buffy would have approved. "With you, I am."

~~~~~

"They get off alright?" Spike asked when Tara came through the front door.

Tara smiled at him. "Fine. I think Anya was happier knowing that Xander decided to fly over by himself."

Spike knew Anya was happier. They had finally managed to go out to dinner with the six of them, and he and the vengeance demon had managed to have a drink together for old time's sake. It had been an odd conversation, in a way, mirroring that disastrous evening in the Magic Box, the one that had started him on this journey in a way.

This time, however, neither one of them had had any complaints at all. They had toasted each other's health, and met one another's eyes, acknowledging the folly of loving a mortal. They had left unspoken the courage that both displayed by taking a chance on love again. Indeed, in fifty years' time, perhaps they would meet to share another drink, and another night of solace. They were linked together in an odd sort of intimacy that comes out of shared pain.

It had been a good night, and had marked the closing of a chapter. With Xander already departed for England, Sunnydale was being left to the hands of the people who had never pretended to be heroes.

After all, pretense isn't necessary when it was all truth.

"I imagine she's just happy knowin' she's the only woman in the world that Rupert loves," Spike observed.

Tara smiled in reply. "I can see that. It's always nice to know you're the one."

They kissed then, both relaxing in the presence of the other. "Then you should know that you're the one," Spike replied softly. "Don't know what I'd have done if I'd missed seein' you the night we got into town. To not have this—"

When he stopped, Tara smiled, hearing the sincerity in his voice. "It would have been a tragedy."

"In five bloody acts." Spike looked down at her, his blue eyes intense. "I love you, you know. More than the world."

Tara touched his cheek. "I know. The feeling is mutual."

And their useless desires were finally laid to rest.